


From the Wreckage

by Willow_Knacker



Series: A Beneficial Union [2]
Category: Ben 10 Series
Genre: Action, Body Horror, Double Life, Gen, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 14:43:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21459751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_Knacker/pseuds/Willow_Knacker
Summary: This is a Ben 10 fanfic that jumps to and fro perspective wise, mostly chapter to chapter. It mostly revolves around the interactions of alternates (alternate bearers and alternate Bens, mostly) and the aftermath of such interactions, as well as character studies.
Series: A Beneficial Union [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1113270
Kudos: 2





	1. At the Dawn of Incineration

Title of Chapter: At the Dawn of Incineration  
Alternate: N//A

I squirm and struggle beneath a mass of dead weight. Slowly, painstakingly, I break free, taking in the first breath of fresh air I've had since I was first shot down some hours ago. 

I look around, none too surprised to see that the moon was nearing the horizon. I'd fallen unconscious at sunset, after all. In the faint light the moon and distant flames provided, I realize that the mass to have buried me were corpses of friend and foe alike. It explained the smell and unwelcomed stickiness, at least. 

Nauseated, I try to stand and put some distance between myself and the stinking pile of mutilation. On the first step, however, I find nothing on my left side with which to balance, leading to me falling face first into the outer edges of the pile. I give out a hiss as a flesh wound on my torso and a broken rib were aggravated by the landing. I roll onto my side to try and alleviate the pain. 

I look down to my feet to see that my left foot is gone, having been broken off and leaving only a still frozen stump. It was cold to the touch and numb beyond belief. I don't know whether to be relieved that I can't feel the pain or horrified. In the end, I feel nothing, leaving the swirl of emotions behind as I work for a walking stick. 

After a minute or so, I fashion one from something charred, rough, uncomfortably warm, and disturbingly akin to a femur bone. The stick was too short to work without hunching over and too long to act as a peg leg, but I make do. 

'Where did the reinforcements go?' I wonder to myself. It looks as though the battle had ended, though the ruined earth was still scorched and sizzling here and there. Still, though, shouldn't someone be out here looking for survivors, or at the very least counting the dead? 

Against the darkness, I see countless piles of the fallen, each at least twice as tall as myself at full height and shaped like large mounds. From time to time, I think I saw something wiggling beneath it all, as if other survivors had been buried in all of the confusion, but the movement ceases before I can investigate, so either my eyes were fooling me, or everything in the pile is now as it was meant to be; dead. 

The battle had been massive, likely covering the entirety of New York at the very least and reducing it all to wreckage. The enemy hadn't cared for the citizenry or bystanders, only winning, and now, as I pass a particularly large flame-engulfed-tree, I am enlightened with the true aftermath. 

Buildings lie lopsided and shattered, some with gargantuan holes through the side, as if they were swiss cheese. Some looked as though something massive had fallen against or stepped on them and cars were in flames. Shops with tarnished and ruined windows, now little more than fragments of translucent stone. I realize the latter had been stormed for supplies and were left empty and hollow. This had probably happened for the last push uphill during the battle. 

I sit down a safe distance from the flame, bowing my head and wondering what I would do from here. What could I do? I couldn't leave this war torn realm by my lonesome, and once my stump dethawed I would surely bleed out.

Another figure slowly trudges through the bloodied mud and muck towards the heat and light, the only beacon amidst the darkness. They sit a ways away from me, and I look at them. It's a he, and the most striking thing about him is his attire. He's dressed in silver, black, and dark purple body armor, though his mask had been discarded. He looks around, a somber frown stealing his lips even as his brow creases further in confusion. 

I suddenly recall what one of the higher ups had said just before rushing into battle, 'They aren't in control. They aren't aware of what they're doing. Take them down if you are able, but remember that they won't hesitate to take you out.' 

"Um..." He starts. I wonder if the commander is still alive, wherever he is. I wonder if we've won. I wonder if Eon's been killed. 

"You have no idea how you got here or what happened, right?" I ask morosely, not looking at him. I see through my peripheral that he nods. 

"Do you?" He asks, though his voice is soft, as if he'd already been subdued by the horror of his own actions. 

I consider telling him what's happened and what he's likely done. It wasn't his fault, and I have no place blaming him, but I can't help but feel distain at just how ignorant he sounds, how innocent those eyes are. I try to keep my eyes from locking onto the smear of red on his right torso. No obvious injuries lined his person. 

Instead of answering, I decide to look back to the flame. I consider taking it to the piles. It was a far better service than leaving them to rot for all to see. "Maybe it's better if you don't know." I inhale, unable to keep myself from asking, "Where did you wake up at? Are you sure you don't remember anything?" 

His eyes are distant and thoughtful as he racks his brain, trying to be as sure as possible. "I came to beneath some rubble, like from one of those buildings," he waves to the closest downed building, "And I think I remember being ambushed by...someone. It goes dark, and then I wake up here." He gestures, as if to encapsulate all that surrounds us.

"You lost to him." My words come without my consent. Dang. Now, he's looking intently at me, with a deep-set interest. I twitch as a slight pain began to climb up from my stump, but I try to ignore it. "Right, that's how he got his servants. He challenged you and then stole your body when you lost. The fact that you're in control of yourself now must mean that he's dead." I pause, surprised, and a wave of relief overtakes me, "He's dead..." I echo. 

I realize I've trailed off and continue before I can be called out, "After that, you-along with hundreds more-were used as his unwilling and unwitting foot soldiers." I explain. 

He glances around, eyeing the mounds, "Oh" he breathes, realization slowly settling in. "Oh...Oh! Wait, are you telling me that this blood...those bodies—?" 

He looks to me, eyes desperate. I close my eyes and exhale shakily, "You shouldn't blame yourself. There's nothing you could've done while under his influence." I try, though my voice is far from comforting. He shakes his head back and forth, eyes wide and wild-and I think he might be remembering. He's pale, even amidst the orange-tinged flame, and begins to try and wipe away the red from his shoulder. He fails. He looks down to his bloodied hand, his eyes filled with an untold horror. 

I try to think of something to say, but something catches my attention, and my head whips to the side, beyond the beach and city and town and into the faint outline of trees. There, a flash, though it's as if I'm not actually seeing it, like the flash is there but being perceived through some other sight. 

A not-light builds, black and blue and purple. My eyes widen, and-

-

A scout flew in the form of a creature resembling a sting ray, though it was man-sized and with a fiery coloration. Today's weather was hot and bright, though thick clouds waited along the horizon. For now, at least, nothing obscured the moon sun. 

He touched down on an intact sky scraper, overlooking the wreckage. There, an alternate stood, receiving word from another scout and recording it on a mechanical tablet. 

"Well?" Asked the recorder. 

JetRay shook his head, "I found nothing." He said. The recorder frowned, but nodded. 

"Sir?" Rasped the scout. He looked up, his face weary but patient. "I don't know if this is confidential or not, but...were there any survivors?" 

The recorder sighed, shaking his head, "No. I'm afraid no one survived the final blow, outside of Marionette, Prism, and Maf. Everyone else-everyone who may have been left behind-is dead." 

The scout bowed his head, but nodded and took off in flight. He overlooked the wreckage, the bodies. At the very least, they knew without a doubt that Eon, along with everyone else, was gone.


	2. A Change of Being (Trix:1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the immediate aftermath of the first Reckoning, following Trix (one of the first established alternates in this series).

Chapter Title: A Change of Being  
Alternate: Trix

"What?!" Trix asked, mortified. 

The other alternate, his eyes multi-hued and physic battle worn, shook his head. "I'm afraid so. It's alright, though; none of us are going to hold you or anyone else who Eon controlled accountable for...what took place." 

"But if Eon was able to control all of us so easily, he can do it again!" Trix argued, his eyes wide as he inspected himself, as if for any lingering traces of Eon's corruption. He was adorned in a slim-fitting battle suit, his hands glinting guiltily with a metallic shine. 

"No, he can't." The other said firmly. 

"How can you be so sure? He can break out of any jail we stick him in, and detaining him would be near impossible!" Trix argued. 

"Eon's dead." He said finally. Suddenly, the chatter of the room fell in a stunned, hushed silence. All of the other alternates, most of whom having been Eon's forces now being given explanations, were watching and listening. The relief and disbelief was so intense, Trix mused that he could slice through it with a butter knife. 

The other alternate, fully aware of his audience, raised his head and voice, "Eon is dead." He practically yelled, uncaring of who heard it, "he was killed in the final push of the battle. Not just his body, not just his mind, not just his spirit; He. Is. Dead." He reiterated. "None of you...none of US are to blame for what happened. The fault is Eon's. All that we are to blame for is what we do moving forward." 

"Then..." Trix breathed, before he even realized he was speaking. The other alternate looked back to him. Trix bit his lip, and continued, "What do we do from here? Our leaders are gone..." 

"And our people are torn." The other continued. He grit his teeth, his gaze passing through each and every person in the room. "And many of us are no more." He added. "What do we do from here?" He parroted back, once again raising his voice, "We recover. We rebuild. This isn't the end to us." 

He began moving towards the door, "If you are injured, or if you have no place you can return to, follow me. If you feel you are ready, or if you'd prefer to heal back in your own realms, you may leave." He paused at Trix, thoughtful. "You look horrid, brother. Please, come with us? A place is already being set up for the wounded with medics at the ready." He said, his voice much more hushed. 

Trix hesitated, then shook his head, "No, I've been gone for too long. Gwen and Kevin must be worried sick and there's probably some problem going on that I'm missing." The other alternate looked him over, concerned. "Besides, I'm not hurt that much. I can clean myself up and heal the worst of it." He added quickly. 

He met the alternate's his eyes, seeing the surprise in them. "You're a mana user?" He asked with newfound appreciation.

Trix felt the stirring request, feeling guilty and selfish at his premature reply, "I can't stay to help...I don't know if I even have enough for myself." He said slowly. The alternate frowned, but nodded. 

"Understandable. Here," He reached into his jacket, pulling out a small cloth bag of unnaturally bright rocks and crystals. He rummaged through it, taking out a stone of medium size, which emitted a powerful glow that emphasized it's bright lime color. He touched it to a clear marble, which instantly mimicked its color and light, before passing it back to Trix. 

"Use this to help heal yourself. The magic it holds is fairly unrefined, but it is pure and eager." 

Trix looked into his hand, noticing that the small stone was being stained with the crimson on his palm. 

"I'll come by in a few days to take back the mana battery." The alternate assured, looking over his shoulder and at another alternate, this one slightly taller and adorned with bandages. "Falcon, take all who are willing to the infirmary. I'll follow you shortly." He instructed his comrade, who nodded in response and walked off. 

Trix realized that, though there were a few tears in the gift-giving alternate's clothes, he himself was without damage. "What's your name?" The other asked suddenly, catching Trix off guard. He'd thought their conversation to have been over...

"11.21, sir. I go by 'Trix'." He took the offered hand, shaking it. His hand tingled as the life energy oozing from this alternate ebbed into him through the contact. He stifled down the pleasant feeling to pulsate some of his own energy through the touch, assuming this to be some kind of anodite greeting. 

The alternate smiled in a pleased sort of way, "10.99999999999, call me Marionette."

-

Trix felt the portal wash over him, a nauseating experience if any. He wasn't yet used to it, though he'd been told that the disorientation would eventually fail to repeat itself with enough iterations. 

He closed his eyes, not wanting to watch the world rematerialize around him for fear of the headache it would undoubtedly cause. He felt the ground solidify beneath his feet. He felt the breeze from the window gently tussle his unkept hair astray. He inhaled the scent of old smoothie cups he kept in the corner, the ones he'd not yet washed. 

He reopened his eyes, making sure that he was indeed alone. He looked outside, then to his alarm clock, it was early day, the sun far below its apex in the center of the sky. He could see people leaving their houses, adorned by uniforms, heading off to work.

'Did all of that happen in just one night? Does no one know I was gone?' Trix wondered. Another part of the frustration of the mind control was that he hadn't the slightest clue as to how long it had lasted. It could have been a month. It could have been a day. It could have been a year. 

'Not a year', he corrected. He eyed his reflection again, recalling that Eon hadn't had them change their attire or wash up after the armor had been set. This armor he quickly began to remove, allowing the chunks of metal, plastic, glass, and whatever else to fall to the ground. He'd smell worse if it had been a year, or even if it had been a month. Perhaps it had been only a couple of days, then? Even that felt too long...

He moved to the restroom closest to his bedroom, stripping and washing before even attempting to heal himself, or even inspecting whatever damage was present on his body. While in there, he found a sudden and intense need to deplete his bowels and bladder. 

'I guess Eon didn't believe in bathroom breaks.' He mused, his stomach rumbling fiercely, 'or lunch breaks.' He tried to guess how long one could go without defecating before it was dangerous, but the information eluded him. He did know that he was thirsty, desperately, but the fact that thirst hadn't yet killed him meant that he'd been gone for less than three days. 

He paused, scanning himself for wounds. They were few and far between, easily mended by his practiced magic. As he did this, he began to sing softly, enjoying the warm, tingling feeling that took away his pain and soreness. He recalled the stone he'd been given, which was now fluctuating with light in time with his song. He could feel it now, as though it were an extension of himself....reaching out and humming along as though it were his audience. 

Taking the stone in hand, he held it up to his chest, where the glow of his core shone through his skin and around his bones. It was as if his heart had been smacked just behind his sternum and was replaced with an impossibly bright glow stick. 

He closed his eyes as the words of his song continued on, simply enjoying the pleasant feeling. His cousin, Kenneth, had taught him the song, or at least introduced him to the tune, many years ago. It was, perhaps, the one and only thing Kenneth had inherited from their grandmother. 

These days, the song was his ritual. Get up, get dressed, get attacked by baddie, go to school. Track baddie down, kick his teeth in, come home, shower, sing. It was a way to help calm himself down, which was something he was in desperate need of as of the moment. 

Soon, though, the song ended, and the feeling ebbed away. He reopened his eyes, catching the world tinged with mana, its lay lines exposed, and watched the tendrils of light fade away and recede into his chest. He packed up, dried, and threw on his usual attire. Then, he went downstairs and shoveled in whatever leftovers he could find. 

As he finished, he felt the inescapable call of his bed, which was a tad odd considering his sleeping habits. He soon flopped down, praying that it wasn't a school day, and passed out. 

He woke up some time later, much to his displeasure, to Gwen shaking his shoulder worriedly. He cracked an eye open, and she smiled in relief. He didn't know what to tell her, or even if he should tell her anything. In the end, the fact that he didn't know what had happened wasn't really that much of a lie...

He was thankful, above all else, that he had no tells from which his secrets could be exposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep this character in mind; he's going to come back up again eventually.


End file.
